Swift, Silent, Deadly
by SSJ-Alhazred
Summary: Craig Boone wasn't one to give civvies the benefit of the doubt, but the kid had survived a gunshot wound to the head so he could find the guy who did it. That had to count for something. SLASH.
1. The Only Easy Day

_Disclaimer_: Fallout is the property of Zenimax Inc, this is a not-for-profit work.

This was done for a prompt on the Fallout kink meme that was simply "Courier/Boone." Will likely be three parts. This is a slash fic and involves non-graphic descriptions of two consenting adults having sex. If you can handle HBO or Skinimax fake-porn, you shouldn't have a problem with this.

* * *

**Swift, Silent, Deadly  
**_I. The Only Easy Day..._

Didn't take me long to figure out the kid's gay.

He wasn't too obvious about it, but First Recon teaches you how to see things that aren't obvious. Hell, any old spotter can see things like this.

I saw it on Manny, too, after I met Carla. That's neither here nor there.

So, the kid's gay. The looks were the most obvious give-away, he was good at sneaking them, but like I said, I've got good eyes. Wandering the wastes doesn't give you the chance to have any more modesty than being in the army, so it's hard to miss these things. It's hard to miss when we find enough water that's not puking up rads to clean up with and he's on watch for raiders or mutants or god knows what, sneaking a look every now and then when I strip down, when he thinks I can't see him out of the corner of my eye. It's hard to miss the dopey grin on his face when he wakes me up at night for my turn at watch, and it's hard to miss the way he lets me sleep for an extra fifteen or twenty minutes sometimes.

Honestly, I actually trusted him more because of it. The kid doesn't exactly bleed professionalism, but he's a hard man under it all, he's just young enough for his age to hide it from most. He knows how to survive, and the fact that I'm not babysitting him is why we work so well together. He'd have made a hell of a soldier.

He's also curious, not just willing to learn but actively seeking it out. That was another giveaway, the way he settles when I'm at his back with my hands at his arms, fixing his posture so he'll know how to fire his shitty old rifle better then a psycho'd up fiend. Or the way he throws a leg over mine, an arm over my back when we're both flat on the ground, when he's actually being a damn good spotter to the point where he syncs his breathing up to mine.

So, he's gay. Me, I'm too numb to be weirded out like I would've been ten years ago, like I _was_ when I realized Manny was making eyes at me.

* * *

I hate that fucking robot.

It floats around, and it just never stops making that damn whirring noise. Of course I can't tell the kid it's a problem, because I know damn well it's not loud enough to actually give us away to anyone who's too far out to spot us. He'd know it too, if I lied.

I swear, this thing either loves me or hates me. It bumps into me all the time, usually right into the back of my head. It has to be doing this on purpose, it can't just be bad wiring or some bullshit like that, because it's the perfect buddy in combat. It's no sniper, but it's still as good a shot as any decent soldier, and it never gets in the way while it's floating around giving fire support.

Naturally, the fucking robot flat-out saves my life after we take down a Legion scouting party and one of the bastards wasn't as dead as we thought it was. You see crazy things out here, but I'd never been what you'd call a wanderer before I met the kid. There was a limit to the crazy in the army, and there was certainly a limit while I was sitting in the dinosaur, but as long as I live, I will never forget the sight of this Legionnaire with the side of his head turned to mush from my shot, his skull cracked open, pushing himself back up with one hand and raising a pistol with the other.

The fact that I froze in shock means I'm either getting old or I'm not nearly as good as I thought I was. Maybe a little of both. Then, the fucking robot comes to the rescue, zips right in front of my face like a shield, takes the bullet, and then zaps the guy with its laser so bad he actually catches on fire while chunks of his head are still flying through the air.

I'd never seen the kid so..._distraught_ as he was when the fucking robot fell right out of the air with a sad little clank, only to float up again like it was carrying a hundred-pound ruck.

"ED-E!"

I almost laughed. It's not a name, I wanted to tell him. It's a stupid acronym, thought up by whoever it was that made the thing, whoever it was that had to be military, because only the military thought up of crap like that.

Watching him run over to the floater and grab it when it fell again, helping it float, made me wonder if his age wasn't what hid the worst of his life from others, but if he just had that much genuine empathy.

I don't know why I volunteered to carry the thing until we found a nice, safe husk of an old building to plunk down in so he could look at it. It was heavy, and high on my list of civilian pleasures was _not_ having to carry more on my back than I rightly needed, so I was more than happy to put it down and watch the kid take his pack off so he could get at his tools.

I hated that I started caring about it, but stupid annoying robot or not, it took a bullet for me. "Is it...like, busted?" I said.

"Not too bad," he said, hands fast at work, faster than I could make sense of. I didn't know the first thing about machines, unless keeping my gun clean and working counted. He had the side off in the time it took me to blink, fingers tapping at that wrist-mount of his to turn it into flashlight. "It got in through a seam, looks like the second layer stopped it...there's some messed-up wires and he needs a new sensor module."

"How do you know all this stuff," I finally asked. It wasn't the first time I'd seen him work meds like a doctor or go at machines like an engineer.

"My daddy taught me," he answered. There wasn't any more to the answer, or at least not any more he was willing to give. Instead, he gave me that grin again. "Wanna learn? Only fair, you've been teaching me how to shoot."

It was just basics. Electronics aren't as easy a thing to learn as gunfighting. He showed me how to solder the wires without being sloppy, how to respect all the different components while swiping out the defective one so nothing else would break...once the armor plate was replaced and I screwed it on tight, the damn thing went right back to floating with that obnoxious sound. It looked at me and played a jingle.

Great; now the fucking robot liked me.

* * *

I hadn't been sure coming back to Bitter Springs had been a good idea.

Now I know it was, if for no other reason than the twenty-plus dead Legion at our feet.

I'd be dead if it wasn't for the kid, his shitty rifle gone in favor of one of those plasma weapons NCR grunts have wet dreams about, his crummy T-shirt and jeans folded in his pack while he wore the crazy armor he'd gotten from those Brotherhood bastards. He didn't try to make me like them; it's always useful having friends, even if you don't like them, he'd said.

We'd both be dead if it hadn't been for that armor. We'd be dead and the robot would be scrap. The raiding party didn't have any heavy weapons. It was quite possibly the greatest thing I'd ever seen in my life, watching one of them try to throw a spear at him only for it to bounce off his chest.

The kid was like something out of hell, marching at them, _at_ them, taking all the attention, taking all the fire from their pistols and shitty rifles, cheap bullets bouncing off him as he took each step, his plasma rifle taking care of the ones in front while me and the robot stayed back, shooting the ones bringing up the rear and working our way forward.

There aren't many ways two men, or two men with an extra shooter, can take down an opposing force outnumbering them ten or twenty to one. This was a way.

"Boone, you're bleeding."

It was hard to tell where he was looking because of the armor, but I tried to follow his helmet, and he was right; I'd nearly taken a shot in the arm, it'd winged me enough to make an open wound. Considering where I was and how the night had went, I couldn't really bring myself to care. No...that's wrong. I did care, for the first time since...I actually cared about myself, I was just too exhausted to take it seriously.

We just took one of the tents and the robot was courteous enough to float outside. Most of the refugees were partying as much as they could manage, drinking what booze they had, kicking the Legionnaires' bodies when they weren't looting them. Good for them, I thought.

The kid took his helmet off and set it down, told me to take off my shirt and hold out my arm while he looked for things in his pack. "Does it hurt?"

"Nothing I can't handle," I told him. It wasn't a lie, but I would've said it anyway, the last thing I needed was a Med-X habit. I still flinched when he disinfected it, his disinfectant of choice being vodka.

I'd expected to die tonight, and I told him as much. I'd expected my payback for what happened the last time I was here, and I expected...maybe release from the feeling I had in my gut ever since I pulled the trigger on my wife.

"I wasn't going to let you die."

The kid paused after he was done with the stitches. When he talked, he didn't look at me. "My daddy taught me everything I know, except for guns, of course. One day he catches me...you know, with someone. Someone he didn't like, though." Another guy, I guessed. "My mom tried to get him off me when he grabbed the knife, so he..."

The kid was still alive, so I could see where this story was going. With him kneeling there next to me, in armor that let him shrug off a horde of madmen, I suddenly knew what hardened him to the world, where his talent for surviving and coping underneath the smile came from. He'd gotten stronger instead of breaking from it. "Why are you telling me this?"

I hadn't meant to sound uncaring, we'd been on the road and watching each others' backs more than long enough for apathy to be out of the question. It just didn't make sense to me, that he'd relive something painful like this just for the sake of conversation.

"Fair's fair, you told me about _your_ life." His smile was forced this time. "My daddy never saw it coming. Grabbed his gun right off the table before he even turned back to me. I dunno if he was sorry or if he thought he was in the right, just shot him and never looked back." When the kid looked back at me, he tapped at the scar on his head. "Life paid _me_ back, too."

I didn't know what to say to him. The silence was anything but calming while we stared at each other.

When he leaned in and kissed me, I really didn't know what the fuck.

Neither did he, if the way he knelt there blinking at me was anything to go buy, and he just said, "I, uh...shouldn't have done that." It'd been quick, painless, just his lips on mine, probably plenty of dirt we'd had caked on exchanged in the process. He went for the roll of gauze he'd taken from his pack. "I'll just finish on your arm..."

I grabbed the collar of his armor before he could start up with that and kissed him back, thinking the whole time that I wasn't in my right mind. I was still on the adrenaline high, still going on instinct, and actual human contact seemed like a good idea at the time. Maybe I understood Manny a little better.

People with wanderlust have weird ideas about what walking the waste is like. Even other grunts in the army think being a civilian out here means being some kind of free spirit, you against the world, with automatic romance whenever you traveled with others. Reality is, you're always dirty, you marinate in your sweat, and...christ, neither of us had showered since our last stop at the strip, the only possible thing that could be more rank than me would be him inside that armor.

That's probably why it didn't go further than his hand down my pants, his left hand, the one with his Vault-built wrist-mount he can't fit the armor over. The steel on his other hand held the back of my head, fingers tracing the band of my beret while we tried harder to shove our tongues further down each others' throats, and I could taste the dirt and feel his dry skin and didn't care, I moved to his neck and bit down when I came.

Once the rush was gone, I flopped onto my back, crooked on the bedroll under me, looking at nothing but the low top of the tent. I could hear his armor move as he shifted off his knees, sitting with his legs stretched out. "Want me to return the favor?" The words sounded like someone else was saying them.

"I," I heard him start to laugh, "I'd have to take my armor off."

I just about lost it, I laughed hard enough to drown him out and when I remembered to breath, I realized I actually felt better.

Some beeping got my attention; tilting my head, I could see the robot hovering low, just inside the tent, staring at us. Christ, and I hadn't even zipped up. Instead of doing that, I did the next best thing and raised one arm to flip it off. It beeped again and floated out. "Fucking robot."

"Hey, don't be mean to ED-E."

So, the kid was gay. I could live with it.


	2. Sua Sponte

This part was based on another kink meme prompt, in this case, "Boone/Courier: I would really like my beret back, please."

* * *

**Swift, Silent, Deadly**  
_II. Sua Sponte_

Looking through the kid's binoculars, I had a pretty good view of the bunker going up. Poof, fire, smoke, no more Brotherhood of Steel in the Mojave.

Except for just about all of them, running in a panic out the door. I couldn't hear the alarm, but it had to have been there, something must've warned them to get the fuck out. Not that it mattered; no army could be truly effective without a base. Even the Brotherhood and their fancy-ass armor couldn't do anything more than harass small outposts if they were conducting gorilla raids without somewhere to go home to, and that was assuming they didn't run back to California with their dicks between their legs.

Funny, past couple of years, rumors were starting to float around about a chapter of the Steelies that'd braved the cyclones of the mid-west, made it to the east coast, and stopped being assholes while they were there. I kind-of wanted to meet them, the idea that the Brotherhood of Steel could be putting their shit to good use instead of wasting space was...interesting.

It didn't matter, I sure as hell wasn't going anywhere, not east, and not off my perch while I waited for the kid. It was awhile, the 'hood was in too much chaos, too unorganized to clear out quickly. Some of them started running in the wrong directions, some of those were scribes who were outrunning the paladins trying to chase them down, slowed by their armor. Floating a few away, close to the ground with me to avoid drawing attention, the robot started beeping. "Shut up," I didn't bother looking at it; if it was trying to tell me the kid had gone up with the light show, I was going to take a sledge hammer to it.

The bunker had gone up as the sun was setting. While I pretended to contemplate the artistic merit of the skyline, I heard the noise of a Stealth Boy shutting off next to me, followed quickly by the sound of the used-up unit being tossed to the ground, and the kid sitting down on the rock next to me.

"It's done," he told me, like it wasn't obvious I knew.

"No kidding," I handed him his binocs back, watched him put them away. The look on his face...I hadn't seen it before. I'd never seen him _uncertain_. I'd been uncertain too, uncertain of giving Mister House so much trust, uncertain of nuking the chapter when they might've been talked into fighting the Legion as a common enemy if for no other reason than the NCR army taking fewer losses, but this was different.

Practically reading my mind, he forced out a chuckle and looked away, grabbing his worn-down hat from where he'd left it sitting next to me. "You know, I'm suddenly feeling really self-conscious of how I just did something I can't take back."

He didn't say another word while we hiked back to the strip.

* * *

Our little home in the Lucky 38 was undoubtedly for temptation more than anything, House telling him what he could have if he was cooperative, if the ideology wasn't enough. It didn't matter to me so much, I could enjoy luxuries, but being trained to go without meant you didn't get attached to them.

Still, getting an actual shower was a pretty luxurious experience. I made a note to throw my clothes into the bathtub and scrub the wasteland out before we moved on tomorrow, probably take care of the kid's stuff, too.

He was still at work, by the time I was dry and dressed, the pieces of his armor spread out, the undersuit and power pack set off to the side while he hammered out the dents in the breastplate. It was mind-boggling to me, all the parts and the physics behind it. Watching him work like it was as simple as cleaning a gun was surreal. "It's late, you should sleep."

"Doesn't matter," he didn't look up at me, just brought the hammer down every few words. "We travel at night half the time anyway, my sleep schedule is good n'fucked."

Couldn't really argue that. It depended where we were going, really; near raiders or Khans or normal bullshit, night was best. I knew how to use night to my advantage and how to minimize the disadvantages, and he was good at following my lead. Mutants and robots and other assorted crap, well, those advantages started disappearing.

I was planning on crashing out, so I'd only thrown on pants and hadn't put my beret back on my head. As I watched him, I started shifting it around in my hands. "Sleep anyway. You've been up more than a day. And _I'm_ going to get some rack time so you sure as hell aren't going to keep hitting steel with a hammer all night."

"Fair enough." After he pushed his goggles up to his forehead and rubbed at his eyes, he just sat back and stared at the wall.

Suddenly, the room felt really, really awkward. When he didn't move at all, just sat there like the wall was going to tell him how to go back in time and stop the Great War, I nudged him with my foot. "Hey."

He was snapped out of his have by that, at least. He was almost back to normal, or maybe he was just trying to act like it, the way he smiled and hopped up to his feet with barely any effort.

That grin of his was a little _too_ mischievous. I saw it coming a second too late, that quick hand of his darting out and snatching my beret away from me. I blinked once and took a step forward to grab at it, but he took a matching step back and regarded it with gleaming curiosity that just made me more angry, especially when he twirled it by the rim on one finger. "So they give you these in First Recon, eh?"

"Yes," I could feel the scowl on my face. "Can I have it back now?"

If he was trying to piss me off, it was working. It worked more when he plopped my beret on top of his head, on top of the worn-out trader-hat he never took off and usually slept with. "Makes me shoot straighter if I wear it, right?"

I chose to ignore that. "I'd really like my beret back, please."

"Come n'get it," he kept smiling.

I'm not sure why I thought just grabbing for it would work, he was lighter on his feet than I was, he just took a step back as soon as he saw my arm go up. Fortunately for me, he didn't have much room to maneuver, and when he tried to slip by me, I grabbed him around the waist and pulled him down to the ground. He couldn't outrun me if he wasn't upright.

I made sure he landed on his back and kept my arms at his sides. My beret just rolled right off his head.

And it got really, _really_ fucking awkward, tackling him down had completely knocked the fight out of him, like he'd suddenly remembered he was tired. He just stared at me and I could almost see an apology he wasn't saying for his horsing around, but there was something else in his eyes, like he'd aged five years in the last week.

"You alright?" I asked.

"Those people did right by us." It didn't occur to me what he was talking about at first, but he kept going. "In the bunker. I know they have fuckin' issues, I know you hate 'em 'cause they killed your friends, but it's not that black and white."

Oh, the fucking 'hood again. Actually, nobody I knew died at Helios One when the army took it from the Brotherhood, but, yeah, I still didn't much like them for it. Still, he had a point. "Sometimes there's no compromise. You want to help House, well, that's what he needed help with." House was right, too; even if he was completely sincere in his grand plans for the benefit of mankind and all that bull, the Brotherhood of Steel never would've sat tight.

"You're right," the kid really felt beaten by this. "I just...thought choosing a side would make things simple. Things were simple when I was just running packages. I'm not used to doing things that matter."

He seemed so weak, right now, pinned under me with a hand on my arm the way someone would hold on to keep from falling. Made me think of first meeting him.

Seeing the kid for the first time had been one hell of a sight. It was through my scope the night he limped into town, didn't think he was a raider but I still considered shooting him just because the robot creeped me out. I could see he was bruised and bloody, I remembered the way he was holding his stomach where his shirt was red, and how I couldn't see his eyes under the brim of his hat but it didn't hide his shit-eating grin. When I switched off with Manny in the morning, the kid was all he could talk about, not just scrapes but busted ribs and a bullet in his gut he dug out himself after he paid for his room, kept himself going on stimpaks. Once I heard the part about how he got all of this taking on a high-up Legion asshole and the raiding party that'd hit Nipton with only the robot and his terrible aim backing him up, I called bullshit on it, went to sleep for the day, and stopped caring.

Until the days turned into the weeks he'd needed to heal, and he showed up in the dinosaur instead of dying from infection, just looking for conversation to pass the time. What we did with Jeannie May proved he had nerve, and, well. After awhile, I knew he wasn't bullshitting.

The kid was a fucking monster when he wanted to be, or, maybe, when he needed to be. Maybe it was his father trying to kill him, or his father killing his mother, or killing his father for that. Maybe that shit turned him into something he hadn't started out as. Maybe it was something else entirely, maybe he was a quick learner and just took to the wastes well. It didn't matter; he wasn't any of that underneath me on the floor.

"I'm not gay." I don't know why I said that, I could've just grabbed my beret and been done with it. He wasn't making a pass at me, wasn't mapping me out with his eyes or anything, he was just stressed, tired and overwhelmed by the world. That last part was what knocked the wind out of him, he was used to taking whatever life threw at him and coming out on top without any confusion.

Not now, though. He smiled a little and said, "Yeah, I know."

I don't really understand how the whole gay thing works. Don't have anything against it, never got jumped by any of the faggots I ever served with, all two of them, anyway. Three, counting Manny. Hell, they were good soldiers. I just don't get it. I figured maybe I just somehow gave him the wrong impression, made about ten times worse by what we did at Bitter Springs. "Why'd you bother, then?

"Aw, hell, Boone." He was almost his old self again, instantly. Smiling at me like always. "I dunno. Just 'cause I like dick doesn't mean I get to choose who I like any more than you do, y'know? You're one cold bastard, but you're a damn good friend, and you always got my back." While I was contemplating the common sense of this answer, he made a show of glancing down. "Aside from that, you're really fuckin' hot."

Fucking hell, I couldn't help but think of Carla. The two of them had practically nothing in common, especially considering my wife didn't have an extra six inches I hadn't bargained for. The one thing they _did_ share was the ability to make me feel like a human being. No, to make me feel like I was worth having around as a human being, not just a shooter who belonged prone on a rock waiting for a target.

Not that I did anything with this information, other than hide it in the back of my mind where I could pretend it wasn't worth thinking about. "You're what," I sighed, "Nineteen?"

"Twenty-one," the kid chuckled. _"You're_ what, ten years older than me?"

I guess I'd walked right into that. Didn't make me any happier to answer. "Nine."

"Well, age of consent in the Republic is seventeen anyway," he said, nonchalantly.

One of my hands moved before I realized I was doing it, up to his neck, my fingers went through his hair from the back up, slowly.

He made the next move. It wasn't like what we did in Bitter Springs, with way too much adrenaline and practically being out in public. We didn't make out like rutting teenagers this time, it was slow, methodical, the kid ran his hands down my back, dug his fingers in, but he didn't push it. Maybe he was exploring just like I was, maybe he was used to men his size, small and unassuming. He kept running his hands through the hair on my chest, traced over every line he could find, every scar like he could hear the stories behind them through touch.

It didn't take long before his idea of treating me with kid-gloves started to backfire, because I had no idea what the fuck I should be doing. I solved this problem by rolling us over, getting myself onto my back with him on top, and he seemed to get the idea. Before anything else he pulled his shirt off, his goggles and his raggedy-ass trader cap shoved off his head in the process. He actually took the time to put that stupid hat back on.

I just tried to follow his lead, so we made it off the floor and onto the bed without much trouble, my hand went down his pants when his went in mine. Before long we both had our pants around our legs and he was grinding down on top of me, his mouth busy leaving marks on my neck like the one I'd left on his before.

My hands tried to find a place, one went to his ass and copped a feel, the other to his back. One of his traced down my arm, pulled my hand up above my head, lacing his fingers with mind. I listened just as much as I felt at the way he sounded, he'd been quiet in Bitter Springs, he'd been the only one doing the touching then.

Wasn't long before he was whispering in my ear, either. "I'm gonna suck y'off," his voice came out in a growl.

Damned if he wasn't good at it. I refused to just be along for the ride, I kept one hand on his head, tangled in his hair, pushing him down harder and if he noticed there was no sign of it, he kept taking it like a champ and just sucked harder. Kid's got a mouth like a fucking vacuum cleaner.

I wanted to warn him when I came but it sneaked up on me and happened too fast. Before I knew it I was pushing off the bed and my teeth were clenched tight to hold back a shout, as if there were anyone in the next room to disturb. Christ, he was the guy with a dick in his mouth and I managed to be the bitch of the arrangement. Or maybe in the back of my mind, I somehow thought Carla might hear, might disapprove.

Once I was down off the high, I just laid there for awhile and caught my breath. Once I pulled my arms back and sat up on my elbows, the first thing I saw was him, still kneeling between my legs, eyes wide with curiosity. "Yeah," I admitted, "I enjoyed that."

Suddenly, he seemed really, really happy. "Good."

I clenched my fists, and told myself to just do it. Hell, at this point, maybe I'd like it. I liked everything so far, didn't I? "Want me to return the favor, this time?"

"Uh," His eyes got really shifty all of a sudden, he even rubbed the back of his head. It took him a few seconds to say what was wrong, exactly. "I kinda just blew my wad on the carpet." When my eyebrows went up, he added, "C'mon, I drool over you every time you take your shirt off, how was I supposed to hold back _now?_"

"Fair enough." I just flopped onto my back again. "I need another shower."

He still had one of his hands on my leg, I could feel his thumb moving in circles on my skin. The kid laughed and said, "I need a shower to begin with."


	3. Who Dares, Wins

Yeah, I totally ripped off the last line of this from something. It probably doesn't work as well here since I didn't spend enough time building up to it, but it's one of the more powerful statements of someone reaching a milestone on the path to accepting loss I've seen, and it seemed to fit Boone pretty well, or at least where I tried to take him.

This part wasn't written for a prompt, just to cap off the other two. It's also a little more explicit, but not by much.

**Swift, Silent, Deadly**  
_III. Who Dares, Wins_

I thought I was finally dead when Lanius swung for me.

Christ, it was bad. We were down to me and the kid, plus the fucking robot, and the fucking _doctor_ wearing the sparkly powered armor, but he was out of ammo and trying to stop the Legate's last praetorian guard from yanking his helmet off and cutting his throat somewhere.

The whole fight was a mess. I probably hit the guards with the butt of my rifle more than I fired it once we got to the camp, fucking close combat bullshit. So, there I was, thinking we should've waited for NCR reinforcements, and Lanius came for me when his shield of personal guards were gone because, I don't know...maybe my fifty-cal was more impressive to him then the kid's plasma rifle. And then I was thinking, 'I'm going to die.'

I tried to move. Lanius was faster than anyone I'd ever seen, weighed down by his armor and that ridiculous helmet, he still moved like a Deathclaw. I was going to take a shot but I lowered my rifle because I needed to move my ass, my finger pulled the trigger anyway as I tried to dive back, thinking if I got away from the first swing of his fucking penis-extension blade I could use the few extra seconds to figure out something better.

I was too slow. The blade caught me across the midsection and time slowed down just so I could feel every inch as it swung, as it cut through me. By the time my back hit the ground, I could feel the blood.

I managed to do damage, I saw that much when I forced myself to sit up, when I shoved myself back to the fence lining the camp. After all this, I still couldn't embrace my death...I felt weak for it, like that son of a bitch Caesar had the right idea all along, as if the Legion were suddenly heroes.

I got him in the leg. Not straight-on, or his leg would be gone below the knee, but my stray shot winged him, tore a chunk out, he was trying to keep the weight off it while he raised the blade to ram it through me and into the ground...

The flash of green at his back stopped him. Then another. The kid had shot him right in the back, twice, with a high-powered energy weapon, and the asshole still wouldn't go down. He was lumbering now, slow, but he turned, left me, went for the kid, he was out of ammo and trying to shove a new fusion charge into his rifle but Lanius swung as soon as he was in arm's reach, hit the rifle with the flat end and knocked it clear out of the kid's hands.

I could barely see the kid with Lanius standing between us, but I knew he was going to die before I bled to death, raising his hands for fisticuffs wasn't going to work against the fucking tank walking towards him, limping though it may have been...

The kid kicked him in the shin. Right where I'd shot him. Lanius dropped his sword and cried out, pissed off and, more importantly, unable to control himself, so the kid punched him in the head, the extra strength given to him by his armor and the steel glove denting in the cheek of that bastard's butt-ugly helmet.

Now I had a clear view, because Lanius fell and the kid just jumped on him, hitting him like that again, Lanius pulled a hidden knife but missed a seam and broke it on the kid's breastplate.

No more punching; the kid wrestled with him and unstrapped his helmet. It shined in the sun when he pulled it off and held it up, and then...

I almost thought I was hallucinating, because that had to be the only explanation for the sight of a courier who weighed maybe one-thirty soaking wet, power armor notwithstanding, beating the Legate to death with his own helmet.

The first time the kid brought it down on his head, it didn't seem like anything. The second was the same, but by the third, Lanius had a broken nose and he wasn't trying to sit up and shove the kid off as much.

"Fucking die!" I heard him shout, "Fucking_ die_ already!"

I knew I was going to die, but if this was the last thing I was going to see, I would die happy.

People always say bullshit about how they think they're dead when they wake up after a bad experience. I knew I was alive as soon as I regained consciousness, I just didn't know how. Some miracle keeping me alive made more sense than being dead; Heaven would involve less back pain, Hell would have more fire. Seeking answers, I opened my eyes and sat up.

That, it turned out, was a bad idea. Suddenly, I remembered I'd been nearly cut in half, and I could feel the results. Shoving the blankets off, I could see the bandages taped across my chest, and I realized there was an IV in the back of my hand. Eventually, I realized I was back at the Lucky 38. I was in bed at the suite.

* * *

"Finally awake?"

I hate it when doctors said that. My eyes were open, I was moving around...squirming might've been a better word, but still. "Yeah."

"You've been out of it for a couple days," he yawned and leaned back in his chair. "If you feel like you can stand up there's no reason you can't walk around, just take it slow and try not to make sudden movements, don't want to tear your stitches."

"What's going on?" I wondered where the kid was. Never saw the doctor much, he usually stayed around the Followers except for that trip all across the wastes he and the kid took to find the Enclave. Now, he seemed a little angry.

"The NCR is headed back west, McCarran's empty now." Yeah, the doctor didn't sound all that pleased. "I guess I shouldn't complain...Mister House is still better than the Legion." I didn't need to ask, I'd known what the kid was planning, and I went along with it. "He carried you himself, you know?"

_That _sounded interesting. "Huh?"

"He carried you all the way out of the battlefield," the doctor said. "He had you in his arms when he told General Oliver to take a hike."

I almost wish I could've seen that. It probably goes without saying that my respect for brass took a pretty big nosedive after Bitter Springs. "Where's the kid now?"

"Off gambling, I think." At this point, I was desperately trying to remember the doctor's name, but I didn't want to admit I hadn't cared enough to remember it in the first place. Kind-of an asshole thing to do when someone's watching your health. He just pushed his glasses back up his nose. "You should sleep more, if you can. I'll tell him you were wondering where he is when I see him."

"Yeah," was pretty much all I got out. I tried to say 'thanks,' but as soon as I settled back on the bed, I couldn't have kept my eyes open longer if someone put a gun to my head.

* * *

I didn't know how long I was out the second time anymore than the first, but when I started to open my eyes again, it wasn't as bad. I was less of a train wreck, but the IV in my hand felt strange. Once I was conscious enough to process what I was seeing and turn my head, I saw why.

The needle wasn't in my hand anymore, the makeshift saline bottle long since dry. The kid was sitting next to me at an angle so he could put his hand on top of mine and he was slumped forward, maybe asleep, the brim of his hat covering his face like the first time I met him.

"Hey," I shook his hand, "Hey."

He startled awake. I would've been sorry, but I was too busy trying not to laugh when he almost fell off the chair and had to straighten his hat. Once that was over with, he winced and took his hand away from mine so he could rub at his back. "Mornin,' sunshine," he said to me.

"Yeah, you look like shit, too," I answered.

"Yeah, now I remember why I don't usually celebrate things by drinking," he smiled at me despite the circles under his eyes. "Hey, we won."

"Yeah," I sighed, content, staring up at the ceiling like it held important information. I wondered what he was going to do now. "Yeah, we did. Where's the doc, anyway?"

"Arcade?" Shrugging, he explained, "He left to pack some things. Said he's probably going to go back to California, doesn't want to be around House."

I really wasn't sure if there was a double meaning in there, so I just asked. "Any regrets?"

"Not a one." I could tell he was shaken, but he wasn't lying. Dealing with consequences wasn't the same as having regrets. "Killed the fucker who shot me and made the place better for...I made it better. _We_ made it better. I believe that, at least. You?"

I was surprised by how easy it was for me to say "No." No, I had no regrets. Sometimes I wish I was still in the army, sometimes I wondered why he wanted to work for House, sometimes I wondered why I went along with it, but in the end? I picked a side and stuck with it, and I like to think I did it for the right reasons. I knew as well as anyone the NCR just wanted to annex the Mojave. Our leaders had sent us to kill and die for territory they didn't have the resources to fully control. If they'd succeeded somewhere along the lines, I probably wouldn't be thinking any of this, but it was what it was.

"I'm glad," he told me. "I'm glad."

* * *

I wanted to tell him I was leaving before the last night. I'm not sure why I didn't.

The stitches I'd had in my chest were gone, replaced by a scar, now. I didn't care much, it could've been worse. A lot worse. I think I'd come down with a case of wanderlust, really; in Novac, I hadn't really minded staying in one place, and the sniper perch wasn't enough of a diversion from my demons to account for it. Now, though...now I felt a little antsy. I had to do something with myself now that I could do sit-ups again without bleeding.

He looked pretty shocked. "What do you mean, you're leaving?"

"Won't be gone forever, I'll just be guarding caravans." I just tried to make it sound fine. I didn't know what he really expected of me, and part of the problem was I didn't know what to expect of him. I needed time to think, and I couldn't do that sitting around, just taking up space. "There and back. The Crimson Caravan office is a twenty minute walk from the Lucky 38."

"Yeah." He looked at the ground, mostly, I thought, so I wouldn't see his face under his hat, like usual. After he kicked at a rock. "Yeah, I guess...I shouldn't have expected you to want to hang out. I mean, I probably won't stay here for, like, the rest of my life or anything, I just need a fuckin' break after all this shit."

"I'm coming back," I wanted to say it flat-out. "I'll be back. That's why I took this job instead of the straight-up merc work. It comes back."

Unless we got ambushed by raiders or other bullshit, but, hey, why be depressing?

His smile came back like it always did, devious as ever. "Hell, Boone, you'll probably be gone for weeks. At least come upstairs and fuck my brains out before you go."

Jesus, he just _says_ these things. And who am I to judge when the answer I give him is, "Sure."

* * *

I wasn't sure what to expect, really. Me n' Carla hadn't exactly been celibate, but this was new to me. Once we finally got to the 'fucking' part, he almost seemed nervous, like he needed to find his nerve. Maybe he hadn't done this in awhile, maybe he was used to being the one doing the fucking, I don't know. By then, I sure as hell didn't want to stop.

He started on his stomach, so I laid down over his back. He still had his raggedy-ass hat on, turned backwards so it didn't get in the way whenever one of us kissed the other, which happened a lot in spite of the angle he had to twist his neck at for it to work. I didn't know what else to do while I was pushing in, and I think he kept it up to distract himself until he got used to it.

He got used to it faster than I did, if the fact that he noticed I wasn't moving once I was in to the hilt before I noticed it meant anything. "Goddamn, Boone, _fuck _me, already."

I started slow, I wasn't sure what he wanted or how he wanted it. When I sped up, the noises he was making got higher-pitched, like I was fucking a woman even though nothing else changed, the body underneath mine was still solid and conditioned from traveling the wastes and carrying the weight of power armor, still scarred from fighting. I actually liked the mix, the way he sounded compared to how he felt.

"Flip me over," was the first coherent thing he managed to say after that point. I had no problem obliging, and I had his legs up on my shoulders in no time. We went from there to me having my back against the headboard with the kid on his knees in my lap. Like this, he leaned into me, clung to me with his arms around my back, kept running his tongue over my neck and around my ear. I could feel his erection sliding on my stomach every time he moved, how it got a little more slick each time.

"Aw, fuck, Boone. Fuck, I'm gonna," he couldn't spit it out, "I'm gonna..."

Something came over me and I wrapped a hand around his dick, for some reason I felt cheated out of this the other times we fooled around. It was a little weird that I cared, but I did it anyway. He wasn't kidding, either, he shot all over me almost as soon as I started pumping back and forth, his ass clenched tighter and I kept pumping up into him. I think I went off before he was even done, and the way he shuddered made it feel even better.

Whole thing didn't take all that long, I don't think. So sue me, it'd been a rough couple of weeks.

We sat like that for awhile before he rolled off of me, neither of us with much strength left. The kid shuffled closer to me so we were shoulder to shoulder, but that was about all he could manage while I was busy staring down at the mess covering my chest, to say nothing of my hand.

Feeling a little daring, I brought my hand up to my mouth, and immediately regretted it when I licked some off. "Jesus, you _like_ swallowing that?"

"It's an acquired taste," he sighed, his eyes heavy.

He mumbled something I couldn't make out. "What?"

"I'm really glad I met you," the kid said.

Fucked if I wasn't glad, too.

* * *

Crimson Caravan wasn't shaping up to be a hard job. I had no doubt playing guard for a couple of pack brahmin and the company's sales reps through the wastes would be physically tiring, but it wasn't complicated. Keep an eye on things, stay hydrated, if anyone gave the drivers shit, shoot 'em. No casing out a target for attack, no lying in wait for days at a time waiting for one target. I cared more about being productive than about being productive in a complicated manner.

"Hey, new guy, you ready?"

The lead brahmin driver's name was Jess, and she had short, bleached hair. Her partner was her brother, Jeff. Not very creative parents, I guess. She was clearly the brains of the outfit. The other shooter was a guy about my size, carried himself like he was ex-military, but he seemed a little off. I didn't read much into it.

"Yeah," I told her. I was pulling one last rope tight around the packs on one of the Brahmin, that was about the last small detail that needed doing before we headed out.

"Great, we'll be out the gates in five." She went from smiling to looking confused, leaning to the side. Something behind me clearly caught her interest. "Can I help you, sir?"

"Nah," I heard the kid's voice as I turned. "I'm good, thanks."

I wasn't sure what to say. I sure as hell didn't expect to see him until we got back from the run. The fucking robot was hovering next to him, like always. "Hey."

"Hey," he smiled. He had his plasma rifle hanging off his shoulder, a caravan-style shotgun like the one Jeff was carrying strapped to his back. "Wanted to give you somethin' for the trip."

He held up the rifle, and I was a little confused. "Why?"

Why would I want that when I was a trained marksman with a perfectly fine precision rifle that shot bullets which moved faster than plasma bolts, I wanted to ask. But, I didn't want to be rude.

"'Cause you can't throw a punch to save your life, and you can't just run away and let these poor folk get slaughtered like we used to haul ass if we were in over our heads." Glancing over my shoulder, he lowered his voice and said, "And that fellow with the lever-action looks kinda creepy, and I want to make sure you're safe and I figured you could use, you know, a close-to-mid-range option, and..."

"Okay," I took the rifle. "I get it."

He handed me a box small enough to fit in my pack, I opened it long enough to see the fusion cells the rifle used for ammo and put it away. Didn't stop him from starting up again. "I keep her maintained all well and good. Shots don't care about gravity either so if you manage to point it at something a mile away without a scope, it'll still hit without raising your aim."

"Good to know," I tried to get a feel for the weight of the rifle, christ it was built awkwardly, but it was lighter than it looked, might've been lighter than my gun. Still, he used it well enough, must've worked fine once you had the stock pressed to your shoulder, and the 'on' switch stuck out enough for me to find it on my own. "So."

"Stay safe," he winked, and he was off just like that, the robot following him close.

* * *

All things considered, it wasn't so bad. I actually enjoyed seeing him, and at least he'd left his ridiculous energy weapon with me instead of leaving the damn robot.

We'd made good ground by the time the sun was setting. The idea of not traveling at night made me feel antsy, lazy even, but it wasn't my call. Even if I had a choice in the matter, there was a big difference between scouting at night and the idea of escorting a caravan at night.

Jess called out, "There's our stop for the night, boys," and it didn't take me long to spot the simple little shack next to the river with space for a camp fire set up nearby. I didn't care for that, either, at least the company was smart enough to train its brahmin drivers to put fires out by the time it was pitch-black out, at least.

We all had various bits of animals on sticks roasting over a fire before long, but I stayed near the brahmin and kept an eye on the wastes while mine cooked. Without any sign of trouble, I allowed myself what amounted to some down-time, the plasma rifle in my hands making me think of home, if that's what it was. It might as well have been, I didn't think I'd ever be able to look at Manny again without thinking of my wife, so I sure as hell wasn't going back to Novac anytime soon.

I took one hand off it and pulled a picture I kept in my pocket out that me n' the kid had taken, we'd gotten it one of our times on the strip, I think it was before we went back to Bitter Springs in the first place because I remembered wanting to punch him when he dragged me over to the Securitron photographing tourists for caps. I found it in the ammo box he'd given me for the plasma rifle. The look on my face certainly showed what I was thinking, and right next to me, the kid wasn't over-excited or horsing around, he just had one arm over my shoulders, his other hand flashing a peace sign. The camera flash made his face easy to see under his hat, unlike usual.

My co-worker had been silent until now, hadn't ever spoken unless spoken too. While I was reminiscing, he walked over to me, still keeping a respectable distance. "Hello."

"Don't think I caught your name earlier," I figured he was just trying to be polite, no reason to alienate people I had to work with.

For some reason, it took him a second to answer. "John."

I almost laughed. As it was, my eyes went a little wide. "Really? Related to them," I motioned to Jess and her brother by the fire, "By any chance?"

He seemed to find this idea strange. "No." More awkward silence. "May I?"

He took one hand off his shitty gun and held it out. I figured, what the hell, why not, let him see the picture.

"This is someone important to you?"

"Last one left," I answered. He stared at it for a good, long while. "That gonna be a problem?"

Christ, did I really just admit what I think I did?

"No," he said, "It's just...strange, to me."

"That and the rest of life," I took it back when he held it out.

He still had plenty of curiosity go around, it seemed. I saw him looking above my eyes. "Is that not given to those in the NCR?"

"Army, yeah. Red means First Recon," I shrugged. Sure as hell wasn't going to take my beret off just because the NCR had pulled out. "Is _that_ gonna be a problem?"

"No," he said again.

"Yo, Boone," Jess called out, "Let my brother keep an eye out for a few, your dinner's gonna burn."

"Yeah," I said, probably not loud enough for her to hear. I took one more second and put the picture back in my pocket before I walked over. There was nothing epic or dramatic about it, but, right then, I felt like I actually had a life that wasn't being lived on borrowed time anymore.

I thought about my wife. She was dead...but it was alright.


End file.
